


Billy and his Amazing Black Kilt

by sunsetmog



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Public Sex, kilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-14
Updated: 2004-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:52:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy wears his kilt to the cinema. </p>
<p>
  <i>He wished they would stop staring. “You’ve seen a bloke in a kilt before, haven’t you?” he said eventually.</i>
</p>
<p><b>Indefatigable</b>: adj, unable to be tired out, unflagging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Billy and his Amazing Black Kilt

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/12169.html) in October 2004.

There are certain men in history that manage to exude a certain je ne sais quoi. They have something special about them, something unique, which pushes at the bounds of friendship and seems to transcend mere sexual attraction. Elvis had it, shaking his hips and sending a whole generation of women (and men) into spasms at his feet; Alexander the Great probably had it, shagging his way around the civilised world as he did. Justin Timberlake _thought_ he had it, although to be fair, with him the clue was probably in the nattily angled hats and the very high notes. 

Billy Boyd didn't have it. He'd meandered his way through life through a mixture of an infectious grin, soft green eyes and an indisputable addiction to hard graft. That, and indefatigable friendliness. People didn't tend to fall at his feet or faint at the sight of him. People tended to laugh and shove and nudge and drink with him. Watch the footy. Prop up bars. Fall softly and quietly in love over time. That sort of thing.

That was the way it had always been. That was the way it would always be. And _that_ was the way Billy liked it. 

"And then I said, like, what the _fuck_ , this is a fucking _great_ shirt, and it's not like you've got any fucking taste... Lij! What the hell?" Orlando broke off in mid sentence, rubbing his arm where Elijah's fingers had suddenly curled around his bicep, digging in until Orlando felt the skin whiten beneath his pink shirt.

Dom grinned. Orlando had been in the middle of a ten-minute monologue about his latest shopping expedition, and if Elijah hadn't attempted to shut him up by halting the circulation to his limbs, given another thirty seconds, Dom would have done it himself. "Nice one, Lij," Dom laughed, knocking back the remains of his can of Coke. He waggled an eyebrow across at Orlando, who wrinkled his nose in what he assumed was a sexy manner. Dom snorted. 

"Dude, _look_." Elijah blinked, and pointed across the room. Shaking his head, he loosened his grip on Orlando.

Dom turned round. 

His lips went suddenly, inexplicably, dry.

Billy was by the door, blinking in the light, scouring the crowds for someone he recognised. 

He was _wearing a kilt_. 

Dom took a deep breath, and swallowed. 

Behind him, equally lost for words, was Orlando (and probably for the first time ever; if Dom wasn't so fixated on the fact that Billy was currently stood at the entrance to the cinema, clad in a black kilt and a pale grey sweatshirt, he would have noted this date in his diary, _the day Orlando went quiet_ ).

Tonight, Billy had **it**. In _spades._

And bloody hell, if the whole sodding room didn't know it right about now. 

~

Billy raised an eyebrow. Was it just him, or had the foyer just got suspiciously quiet? 

His thigh itched. One long finger rubbed minutely against the heavy wool of his kilt. 

Where the buggering hell were Dom and the others? Seven pm, they'd said, _and_ he was late. They could have waited somewhere obvious; bloody Saturday night it was and busy as _fuck_ in here. No doubt they were hiding somewhere behind a great big cardboard cut out for some film he'd never heard of and he was just supposed to stand here looking like a complete _dick_. And people were _looking_ at him. 

He glanced around. People were _definitely_ staring at him. And not just your typical 'man in a kilt alert and therefore we must look him up and down, because it is just not normal for men to wear skirts in the southern hemisphere (despite the fact it is considerably warmer than in the Caledonian hills)' look either. Billy gets that sort of look a lot. But this was definitely a different type of look. 

Punctuated by Dom, Elijah and Orlando pushing through the crowds with yelps and squeaks and them sliding to a halt about four centimetres from Billy's chest.

"Evening." Billy said, after it became blatantly obvious that Dom, Elijah and Orlando had completely lost their grasp of the English language. 

He wished they would stop staring. "You've seen a bloke in a kilt before, haven't you?" he said eventually, warmth smattering his cheeks. Dom shifted his gaze from where it rested, deep in the dark pile of the kilt, and attempted to make eye contact with Billy. Orlando rested a long finger somewhere beneath Billy's breastbone, and pushed, gently. Elijah swallowed. 

"Haven't seen _you_ in a kilt before, Bills," Dom muttered, and his voice sounded suspiciously gruff. 

Orlando said, well, nothing. 

Billy cocked his head to one side and wondered whether there was some sort of bet going on that he had no idea about. "Someone jinxed you, Orls?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. The swoosh of the main door opening and closing behind them caused the kilt to shift and breathe against Billy's knees. It still itched a bit as the wool caught the dark hair that smattered his thighs. Orlando shook his head mutely, his eyes wide. He carefully removed his finger from Billy's chest and secreted it deep inside the pocket of his jeans. 

Elijah handed Billy his ticket. "Come on," he said, and his fingers grazed Billy's, before he turned and rushed for the escalator, Dom and Orlando in quick pursuit. "We'll miss the beginning."

And Billy followed behind, the soft grey of his sweatshirt warm against the bright lights of the auditorium and the kilt sweeping his thighs. 

And with trembling fingers and gruff voices and wide eyes, the room _watched._

~

What the fuck film was this anyhow? Dom, startled by another loud bang from the direction of the screen, was soon going to have to admit to himself that he hadn't paid attention for a _single second_. Not since the adverts had started and Billy had sunk down in the seat next to him, the lights dusky and half lit for the trailers, and the kilt had ridden up past Billy's knees. 

He'd made a strangled noise and had to turn it into a cough, pretending like he was spectacularly overexcited by the rush of the latest Hollywood action thriller. 

Billy leaned over, one hand on his knee (long fingers askew; pale, warm skin silhouetted against the black of the thick wool), and damn him if he didn't look _concerned._

"Are you alright?" he asked, his breath slipping and sliding against Dom's cheek. 

Dom attempted not to groan. 

The light blackened as the trailers merged with the titles of whatever it was they'd come to see. Next to him, he could hear the staccato breath of Orlando as he too let his gaze rest on Billy's hand, watching the minute rubbing motion as the fabric scratched Billy's skin. 

"Dom?" Billy asked again, and Dom tore his attention back from Billy's lap to his face. 

"Fine, yes, fine," Dom whispered distractedly. Then, as voices sprang up from the screen and Dom decided to ignore them completely, he said "Why the kilt, Bills?" and his voice was desperate. 

"It's Burns Day. Are you sure you're alright?" Billy said, finally. 

The words ghosted across Dom's adams apple, and sweat beaded across his forehead. This could _not_ be happening. 

He turned to face Billy, darkness shrouding their faces. "I'm not alright," he whispered, and the words were lost against Billy's skin as Dom pressed his cheek to Billy's. "I don't think I'm ever going to be alright again."

Billy's fingers grazed Dom's neck, and Dom couldn't help but let his spine curve up towards Billy's touch. "Dom?" Billy's touch rested in the nape of Dom's neck, his fingers curling around Dom's hair. Dom buried his face in Billy's neck, his face hot and his eyes stinging. 

"Dom?" Billy pulled away, his fingers reaching for Dom and finding the graze of stubble in the darkness. Billy's breath was hot. "You're going to be just fine."

The words were lost somewhere against Dom's lips, somewhere in the curves and the heat of his mouth. Somewhere in the touch of Dom's hand against Billy's kilt. 

~

Can you, uh, see that?" Elijah whispered, swallowing. His hand slid along the armrest, the velvet rough against his palm. 

Orlando nodded slowly in the darkness. He rubbed his thigh softly. "Can I ever," he breathed, and his eyes flittered from Elijah to Dom and Billy and back again. 

Dom and Billy were _kissing_. Their shadows melded in the darkness, a softly writhing pair, with hands that moved and grazed and stroked. They were _kissing_ , and despite the shadows, Elijah would quite willingly bear witness to this being quite the hottest thing he'd ever seen. 

"Uh," he managed, and Orlando grinned across at him, white teeth incongruous in the darkness. Around them, the noise of the film reverberated off the walls. 

"You alright there, Lij?" Orlando whispered, and his fingers crept off the armrest and onto the rough denim of Elijah's jeans. "All hot and bothered over Billy in his kilt?"

Elijah's eyes widened, and his breath quickened. Something about the way Orlando's eyes glittered, coupled with the idea of Billy in his kilt (soft dark fabric sweeping down over Billy's thighs, the soft grey of the sweater falling over his hips. The tantalising trail of golden skin between kilt and sock) had set off a reaction deep inside Elijah's belly. _Billy. Orlando._

Orlando's fingers crept up Elijah's thigh. 

Elijah's skin twitched and burnt beneath Orlando's hand. He swallowed, and Orlando smiled, a hangman's smile. 

"Billy in his kilt, huh?" Orlando muttered, and his voice was rough and cracked. His hand palmed Elijah's crotch. 

"Touch me," Elijah begged, and the world tipped on its axis as Orlando obliged.

~

Orlando was having a seriously bizarre evening. Like, really. For a start, he'd had to deal with some dumb shit who had called his taste in clothes atrocious. That sort of thing really got his goat. And then... then there'd been Billy. Who knew? 

Billy, standing tall and trying to see someone he recognised, the kilt stretching upwards, his socks slouched down into walking boots. Standing in the doorway to the cinema like this getup was something he wore every day of his damn life and not just on special occasions. Standing there like he didn't know he'd just blown Orlando's mind to smithereens and caused him to re-evaluate every judgement he'd ever made about Billy. Consigning him into the 'attractive, great guy, but _no, probably_ not' category so early on in their relationship had been a mistake, Orlando could see that now. Because Billy, Billy in a kilt with that soft smile playing on his lips (the one that whispered _Dom_ in words that no one normally chose to hear) was enough to make Orlando's jaw swing perilously low to the floor and his cock push against his zipper. 

But _now_. Dom had finally heard those words that Billy couldn't help but say over and over, day after day after day ( _Dom_ ). Dom had finally listened, and now Orlando was forced to listen too, to the soft noises and breaths and slippery kisses as Dom pressed against the kilt and the seats creaked. Orlando was fucking hard already, without turning and finding Elijah, wide-eyed and arching, his breath quick and hot in the shadowy darkness. 

His fingers found Elijah's zip almost before he knew what he was playing at, craving some way to touch and feel skin beneath his fingers, desperate for some way to drown out (turn up) the sounds of Dom and Billy from his other side. His fingers curved round denim, and under elastic, and Elijah _gasped_ , and Orlando's grip curled around skin as soft and hot as velvet and as hard as iron. Elijah's eyes were wide and Orlando couldn't help but whisper words, words that cascaded and dripped and tumbled from his mouth as his thumb swept Elijah's damp tip, and Elijah's head rolled onto Orlando's shoulder. 

"Did you see that," Orlando whispered, his breath ghosting Elijah's ear, his pink tongue gently licking the hollow of pale skin where hair became neck, "golden skin, and the _kilt_..." 

Orlando was silenced by Elijah, who arched his hips upwards against Orlando's fist and pressed his dry mouth hard against Orlando's. He moaned against Orlando's tongue (and Orlando was in charge of the situation just enough to realise that _that_ was the moment where everything splintered and fragmented, and the world shifted slightly to accommodate a reality where Orlando and Elijah merged and melded), and Orlando's hand was suddenly sticky and warm as Lij breathed and came and collapsed against him. 

That kilt had a lot to answer for, Orlando realised, and he _ached_. But then stubby fingers were inching their way across his thigh, and breath sticky and sated and hot was melding with his own, and Orlando lost the ability to think straight. 

~

Billy shifted in his seat; his hands touching and exploring Dom's warm skin, pressing against the beginnings of stubble, and the softness of hair newly washed and smelling like oranges. He grinned against the warm, wet pressure of Dom's mouth, wondering just how long it had been since he'd realised that all he really wanted out of this shoot was _this_ —Dom, hot, bothered and desperate. And if he'd realised weeks ago that the way to bring Dom to his knees (figuratively, such realities had yet to be breached) was to saunter on in in his kilt, well, Billy would have worn one every day. 

The effect on Orlando and Elijah was something he hadn't been anticipating. He could see them, out of the corner of his eye, as Dom's mouth slipped from his and concentrated itself on nibbling and kissing its way down Billy's pliant throat. He could see them, pressed together, Elijah's hand somewhere deep inside the folds of Orlando's trousers. The whispered words that had hit Billy with considerable force just minutes earlier were lost somewhere between Orlando and Elijah, spoken in breaths and tongues and with the rough touch of callused hands on hard dicks. 

But then Dom had negotiated the armrest that had served as a barrier between them, and was suddenly in Billy's lap, his fingers twisting in the nape of Billy's neck, his mouth hot against Billy's. With his erection pressed up hard against Billy's. 

Something fractured deep inside of him. All these feelings (this warmth, this attraction, this desperate, desperate _need_ ) that had been such a part of Billy's life ever since he'd first come to New Zealand and spotted Dominic, were suddenly there, right in front of him. He arched his hips, pushing and pressing his groin up against Dom's. "Dom," he breathed, and his fingers were fighting with Dom's top button and his zip, his breath catching as he felt the pressure of Dom's hard cock against his jeans, thinking _for me_ and begging himself to carry on. 

Dom licked the end of Billy's nose, his breath fragmented and quick. "Bills?"

Billy swallowed. Tried to remember how to breathe. He pulled the zip down the rest of the way, pulling tartan ( _tartan!_ ) boxer shorts out and over Dom's cock (and _oh god, look at that_ ) and he bent over and _breathed_ along the length. "Shift your arse, Dom," he muttered, and his voice caught and stuttered. 

Dom rested his sticky forehead against Billy's and duly obliged, arching away from Billy's lap. Billy pulled his kilt up with one hand, forcing Dom back down onto his lap with the other, letting the heavy, dark fabric drop and skate over the top of Dom's nakedness as he reached for Dom's mouth again. 

And Dom skirted forward, and _oh fucking, fucking, fucking hell_ , there was the touch of hot, hard, velvety soft veiny skin against equally hard, equally hot, equally desperate skin. Billy had ummed and ahhed over whether to go with the full show or not, whether to just bow to temptation and stick a pair of boxers on under his kilt. Now, with Dom shifting in his lap and with their cocks pressing together and the friction causing Billy's mind to melt and his head to float off somewhere into the ether, Billy was fairly adamant he'd made the right decision. 

Dom's hand crept under the kilt, his fingers encircling both Billy's cock and his own, his thumb grazing Billy's damp tip and mixing wetness with his own sticky dampness. And Billy couldn't help but let his own hand join Dom's under the cover of the thick wool, his palm damp against Dom's hot skin. The rhythm was jerky and not entirely comfortable. Their hands grazed and bumped and skidded against each other in the sweltering heat. Lips met and slid and pressed against each other, the kisses secondary to the shuddering rhythm of their joined hands and cocks. Heat prickled up Billy's spine; sweat beaded on his forehead. He gave up any pretence of participating in the kiss, his mouth slack against Dom's, breathing hot and heavy and fast against him. His balls were tight and he could feel the same tightness spreading through Dom's body, their breathing spasmodic and the rhythm of their hands fast. The _friction. Dom._

Billy came a second after Dom, release desperate and needy and hot. Dom's head rested in the crook of Billy's neck, his breath misting against Billy's sweatshirt. 

"Dom?" he asked, and his voice sounded different. Edged with something hot and heavy. 

Dom muttered something unintelligible against his skin. 

"I've got more kilts you know..." Billy breathed into Dom's ear. Dom twitched. "Maybe you could come round and meet them sometime."

Dom kissed him. 

~

And on Monday morning, when Sean asked them if the film was worth seeing, none of them had the slightest idea.


End file.
